


Needles and Sutures

by Makalaure



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Bones-Centric, Drama, Gen, Humor, Pre-TOS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 14:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14979080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makalaure/pseuds/Makalaure
Summary: The form glares starkly at him, and he writes with haste so he does not have time to think about whether this is a monumentally bad decision. It would be far from his first, either way.





	Needles and Sutures

Needles and Sutures

_This_ , Leonard thinks as he scrawls over a sheaf of papers pressed against a wall because there are no tables,  _was not part of my five-year plan._ Hugh leans over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, and Leonard gives him a light kick and tells him to go away.

The form glares starkly at him, and he writes with haste so he does not have time to think about whether this is a monumentally bad decision. It would be far from his first, either way.

He had left the blank space under 'Name' for the end, and pauses when he comes back to it. Then he scribbles the first thing that comes to mind, signs, and takes the papers back to counter 5, where he slaps them down with sweaty palms and some credits. He is afraid that someone will notice, call him out, but no one even blinks. A woman with impressive dark circles and skin that looks like it has not seen the sun in months takes them, tells him to sit down, and prepares to snap his photograph. He struggles not to pat his hair or smooth his shirt; he’s not been grooming himself too well since –

“No smiling,” the woman says sharply, and Leonard, with relief, drops his awkward smile.

He has felt like a fraud before – practicing medicine can have that effect on you, especially in your first year of residency, but he’s never felt like such a first-class loser, even though he knows that what he is doing should not be considered wrong. He's a country doctor, not a judge, jury, or executioner – there is no clause about ‘legally entering the Federation’ in the Hippocratic oath. He will stand by it.

 _Stand by it?_  a voice tells him.  _You’ve already broken it._

Leonard shakes his head and takes back his papers, and the woman tells him to go to room number 2. “Just do as the guy in there tells you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t think.”

Those are the least comforting words she could have said.

Before he has time to consider hightailing it out of there, Hugh grips his elbow and drags him towards the room, telling him it will be fine, stop panicking, Len, God, you're such a wuss. Hugh had been the one to suggest providing medical aid to illegal immigrants, after Leonard had been booted out of the hospital, and is taking gleeful pleasure in Leonard’s obvious discomfort.

"I wish I'd never met you," Leonard says, digging in his heels, to no effect. He doesn't even know why he's so reluctant; his brain is just screaming 'no' at every turn in his life these days.

"Don't be shy, Len," returns Hugh cheerfully, without looking at him. He and Leonard had been roommates in their first year of medical school; Hugh was one of those students who barely seemed to study but still did well in all his classes. It had been maddening to Leonard, who all but lived in the library and survived on coffee and beans because he didn't have time to cook proper food. "Your life would be a dull, dreary charnel house without me. In you go!"

Leonard is shoved ahead of a queue of people, earning a string of  _hey_ s, and stumbles into a cramped room. He is, fortunately, not made to do any nefarious deeds. Someone has hung a spotted picture of Jesus by the window, and despite the heat there are two sticks of incense burning away. The man behind the counter looks through Leonard’s papers and grunts. “ID with proof of address.”

Leonard boggles. Do these people actually care about things like that? “You’re allowing me to use an alias.”

“Be that as it may, _I_  need your original documents.”

 _Picky lot_ , Leonard thinks sourly as he digs into his satchel,  _for a bunch of guys in the underground_.

He is asked for a copy of his old license and the reason it was taken away. Leonard is stone-faced as he replies, but if the man feels disgust or pity he does not show it. That is fine – Leonard does not react well to either. He is made to do a quick quiz on xenobiology (which he had not anticipated, but passes, somehow, even with the man hollering at him for his stupidity for getting the first two questions wrong), and then it's over. Done.

When he staggers out, dazed, Hugh takes his papers from him and peruses them. “Gonna have to lock these away where no one can see ‘em,” he says, and adds with some irony, “They’re only meant to show to our fellow degenerates.”

Around them, people weave through the hall, not looking at each other. They have a peculiar air of unreality, of lack of substance. Leonard thinks if he tries to touch them, his hand might go right through. His head spins. He feels nauseous.

Hugh is saying, “New name?” and waggling his ginger eyebrows.

It is average-sounding, not memorable at all. Leonard is  _not_  using his real name in some shady underground organisation. If someone recognises it, he does not want to think about the repercussions (though he will have to at some point, if he wants to save his hide). He has asked himself rhetorically, in moments of childish bitterness, if his life could get any worse, but he knows it always can. It is a lesson hard learned.

Leonard shrugs and looks away. There are moths fluttering about the tube lights, great fat millipedes inching over the peeling walls. Across the checkered floor, the shadows are lengthening with the evening. “It’s still Irish,” he says dumbly, scuffing his shoe against the ground. It’s sweltering; fans whir from the ceiling, but they don’t do much good. He wipes the sweat from his forehead. Georgia heat has never felt so hostile.

Hugh grins and folds up the papers. “Well then. Let’s get going, eh, Dr. Jackson Kelley.”

**Author's Note:**

> TBC.
> 
> While researching this fic, I learned that ‘First, do no harm’ is not actually part of the Hippocratic oath. I am crushed.


End file.
